


(re)set the tone

by kassio



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassio/pseuds/kassio
Summary: “Louis,” he said into the phone. “Will you be my fake boyfriend tonight?”Louis laughed. “What?”“I just really want to dance and have fun and not deal with getting hit on,” Harry whined. “Please come out with me tonight and be my pretend boyfriend.”Louis hesitated for a long moment, long enough that Harry really thought he would say no, but then he sighed and said, “Yeah, okay."





	

Harry just wanted to listen to the band, but the guy would not leave him alone, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

“There's no harm in giving me your number,” the guy wheedled, again.

“I have a boyfriend,” Harry said. It was a lie, and he hated lying to people, but this guy was being kind of an ass.

“Oh, come on, don't be like that, I just want to make a friend,” the guy said, all big puppy-dog eyes, belying his words with the way he leaned into Harry's personal space. Glancing over at Louis, he continued, “I'm sure your boyfriend there wouldn't tell you that you can't make a new friend.”

“Is that right?” Feeling inspired, Harry slid his arm around Louis' waist. Louis looked over, eyebrows raised. “Would my boyfriend feel okay with me giving this guy my number?” _Say no_ , he mouthed desperately.

Louis frowned. “No,” he said firmly.

Harry turned back to the pushy guy and shrugged. “Sorry, mate. Try someone else.”

He waited until the man walked off, grumbling, to drop his hand. “Thanks for the save.”

“Of course.”

That was that, until a few weeks later.

Harry was prowling around his bedroom, searching for a shirt that he'd already tried on and discarded. At this point, he'd been through most of his shirts, trying to find the one that said _I'm hot but not so hot that you want to take me home, just hot enough that you want to dance with me for a little bit, but leave me alone after._

That shirt did not seem to exist, and Harry was _so_ frustrated. It had been a long, exhausting week at work. He just wanted to get into a crowd, have a few drinks, and _dance,_ without having to worry about someone wanting or needing something from him. He didn't want to deal with someone calling him a tease, or someone following him around begging for his number.

If he wasn't dressed to pull, though, he was just going to look like some idiot who time-travelled straight from his morning gym class to the club. He felt restless and annoyed and without a solution.

Then, suddenly, he remembered that moment at that show a few weeks back, and it hit him.

“Louis,” he said into the phone. “Will you be my fake boyfriend tonight?”

Louis laughed. “What?”

“I just really want to dance and have fun and not deal with getting hit on,” Harry whined. “Pleeeeeaaase come out with me tonight and be my pretend boyfriend.”

Louis hesitated for a long moment, long enough that Harry really thought he would say no, but then he sighed and said, “Yeah, okay. You're paying for the Uber after.”

“Deal,” Harry said quickly. “Come by my place around... nine or ten?”

“Okay,” Louis agreed, and hung up. Harry groaned, because that was supposed to mean _tell me nine or_ _ten,_ not _show up sometime in this window._ Then again, Louis was always late, so whatever time he would have said would have been meaningless anyway.

Louis didn't show up until 10:30, but it was still a brilliant night. They danced, they did shots, they cuddled against the wall when they needed a breather, they walked through the streets singing, and it was just _fun._

“It's, like, all the benefits of having a boyfriend, but without the jealousy, or having to actually find a boyfriend,” Harry marvelled.

“Yeah, except you're going home alone, loser,” Louis laughed, slipping out of the cab.

Harry laughed, and he smiled the whole way home.

They kept it up throughout the winter. It wasn't a frequent thing, once every couple of weeks or so. Harry didn't want to press too much. It was always him asking. Louis always said yes, though, and they always had a good time.

 

* * *

 

“I wanna dance,” Harry said abruptly. “Lou, be my boyfriend tonight?”

“Say what now?” Liam interjected, eyebrows high.

Louis answers quickly, “It's this thing we do, when Harry just wants to go out dancing and not get hit on, I pretend to be his boyfriend so it's easier to avoid the blokes who are out to pull.”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “What if _you_ want to pull?”

“Oh,” Harry exclaims, looking startled. “Do you? I thought you would say no to me, if you did, but I guess I just assumed. You should tell me no if you don't want to – do that with me.”

Louis frowned quickly at Zayn. “Of course I'd tell you no if I didn't want to. Don't worry about it. Let's go dance.”

 

* * *

 

Spring came. The days got longer, and warmer. One weekend day, it was beautiful and sunny and warm, and they gathered up all of their friends to play football in the park. Liam decided they'd play shirts versus skins.

“Why would you put me on shirts?” Harry gasped in outrage. “I love taking my clothes off. I _live_ for it.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Niall cut in. “We've seen it enough. You're shirts. Louis, you're with me on skins.”

“I can't believe you're making me wear a shirt and you're taking Louis away from me. This is sabotage.”

Shirts lost, inevitably.

“Stop pouting, H, you're rubbish at football anyway,” Louis laughed as they walked off the pitch.

“Yeah, I know, that's why I'm supposed to be on your team,” Harry grumbled.

“Oi, so you just want to fuckin' mooch off of my brilliance when you can barely stay upright on the pitch?”

It was a completely fair point, but Harry felt unaccountably annoyed. Without warning, he shot his left hand out and gave Louis a hard shove in the shoulder.

Louis stumbled, but bounced back quickly, laughing again. “You're such a sore loser, you're the worst.” He reached out to push Harry back, but Harry was ready for it. He caught Louis' hand, and then they were grappling, cursing and giggling, until Liam shoved in, rolling his eyes.

“Break it up, children, or I'm not giving you a lift to the pub. I'm not waiting around for your dumb asses.”

* * *

 

Harry felt restless and a bit horny all the next week. Spring, he supposed: the birds and bees and rabbits and squirrels were all out there getting busy. Being a spiritual and nature-friendly guy, he was feeling the same urges, he reckoned.

He also just hadn't gotten laid in a long time. He tried to remember the last one, and couldn't. All of his nights out in the last month or two had either been with Louis or out with friends, and even in the latter case he hadn't pulled in ages.

It was an easy enough problem to fix. He just had to do it.

Louis texted him Friday morning:

 **Louis, 11:02 AM**  
_Anything good going on tonight?_

 **Harry, 11:05 AM**  
_Ahhh I dunno. I was thinking I might go to a club._

 **Louis, 11:19 AM**  
_Just you?_

 **Harry, 11:20 AM**  
_yeah_

 **Louis, 11:26 AM**  
_well don't forget you condoms then_

 **Harry, 11:28 AM**  
_Shut up_

 **Louis, 11:28 AM**  
_Where're you thinking?_

 **Harry, 11:30 AM**  
_Maybe Faux, I like the dj they hve tonight_

 **Louis, 11:31 AM**  
_Solid choice, yah he's good_

 **Louis, 12:02 PM**  
_Sure u don't want a wing man? I'll make sure they're not serial killers_

 **Harry, 12:04 PM**  
_How are you going to tell?? LOL thanks but no don't worry about it_

Louis didn't say anything else that day. It was a bit odd – they usually texted more than that – but he supposed that Louis must just be busy. He caught himself staring at his phone several times that day, wondering what Louis was doing that night. The third time, he actually groaned out loud and shook his head at himself. How co-dependent had they gotten these last few months? He really did need to go out by himself for once.

* * *

 

A few hours later, his determination was waning. He was sitting at the bar, _alone,_ nursing a mediocre beer purchased by the bloke he'd just turned down.

It wasn't a problem of getting attention. The chocolate-brown curls grazing his shoulder were a draw even when he looked awful, and tonight he thought he looked quite good in a barely-buttoned sheer pattern shirt, his tightest black jeans, and a hint of lip colour. He'd danced with a dozen men, had half-a-dozen drinks bought for him; he was getting plenty of attention. The problem was that all of them had been strangely unappealing. Decent-looking enough, sure. He could've taken any of them home and had a perfectly nice night. He just hadn't wanted any of them.

He sighed, tracing patterns in the beer spilled on the bar top, and wondered what was wrong with him.

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?”

Harry looked up, startled, right at—

“Louis?”

Louis grinned, ducking his head and brushing his hand across his fringe. “Hey.”

Harry blinked at him. “Hey. You're... here?”

“And offering you a drink. What d'you want?”

Harry frowned. His eyes swept over Louis' body: thin black shirt with a low neck that showed off his collarbones and tattoos, muscles of his arms glazed with sweat, tight jeans, Doc Martens – he looked dressed to pull. “But you don't buy me drinks when we're out together,” he said slowly. “I buy my own. Or buy you stuff because you're putting up with me.”

“Yes,” Louis said, drumming his fingers on the bar. “We're not doing the fake boyfriend thing tonight. I'm here offering you a drink. Get it?”

Harry felt a strange lurch in his stomach, like he was on a roller coaster and they just reached the first drop. “Oh. I. Maybe?”

His heart was beating fast and he couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched Louis quickly order a rum and Coke and a vodka cranberry, tossing bills onto the bar top. “Which one do you want?” Louis asked, sliding the two drinks over.

“Um. The rum and Coke.”

“Okay.” Louis snagged the vodka cranberry and took a big gulp, disdaining the tiny straw entirely.

Harry kept staring. “It's after midnight.”

“I noticed.”

“So you just came here... hoping I'd still be here?”

Louis shrugged. “Nah, just figured you'd have struck out and be sitting all lonely at the bar and you'd need a friend.”

Harry gasped indignantly. “Is this that negging thing? Seriously? Don't do me like that, Lou.”

Louis threw back his head and laughed. “Oh my god.”

“For your information, I got plenty of offers tonight.” He tried to take a smug sip of his drink without looking away. The straw wasn't where he thought it would be, so he ended up fumbling weirdly at it with his mouth. _Smooth._

“Really?” Louis raised his eyebrows. “And yet you were just sitting alone at the bar because...?”

Harry shrugged. “Just didn't fancy any of them.”

“Huh.” Louis took a sip of his drink, slower than the last one. “You don't usually have a hard time finding someone.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “It's been a weird night.”

Louis hummed, but didn't say anything.

They sat in silence for a long moment, sneaking glances at each other and sipping their drinks. Then, for no reason in particular, Harry started giggling, tipping forward until he was bent over so far that his head was nearly touching the sticky bar.

“What?” Louis demanded, laughing too. “Stop it!”

“I can't,” Harry laughed. “This is weird! We're being so awkward!”

“God damn it,” Louis said, still giggling. He reached out and pinched Harry's hip, drawing a yelp from the other man. “I was trying to be fucking suave. Stop _laughing.”_

“I'm not laughing at you!” Harry exclaimed. “You were totally suave, really.”

“Oh, 'were'? The moment has passed?”

“The moment of suaveness? It's gone, long gone, yeah.”

“Suavité,” Louis said in an exaggerated French accent.

“Suavité perdu,” Harry agreed mournfully.

“Wait, what's that mean?”

“Like, lost suaveness,” Harry laughed. “I think. It's been a while since I took French but I'm pretty sure that 'perdu' is lost.”

“You know, if you'd said that really confidently I'd have totally believed you, but now you've introduced doubt. I think you're bullshitting me.”

“I'm not! That's so unfair!”

Louis was grinning at him, and Harry was smiling so hard, and it suddenly hit him that they were grinning at each other like fools, and their faces were awfully close together – in order to hear each other over the music in the club, of course.

The way that Harry was leaning in towards Louis was actually getting a bit uncomfortable. Telling himself not to overthink it, he put his hand on Louis' stool so that he could support himself as he leaned in.

He wasn't touching Louis on purpose, but his arm brushed against Louis' ass. It was hardly intimate; they'd always been rather hands-on with each other in their years of friendship. Harry was doing this much more intentionally than any time before, but he wasn't sure that made a difference from Louis' perspective.

Then Louis leaned back, pressing more of himself against Harry's arm, and _that_ felt intentional. For a minute there, they had just been bantering like always, but Harry felt a fresh thrill run through him at the contact.

“I'll have you know that I know, like, dozens of words of French,” Harry said, just for the sake of saying something.

Louis lifted an arm and propped his elbow on Harry's shoulder so he could lean his face against his hand. “Truly amazing.”

“That sounded really sarcastic.”

“How clever you are.”

“Don't act like you're better than me, the only word you know is 'suavité,' and I think you might've just made that up.”

“You can't prove anything.” Louis beamed.

“What? It's called a dictionary, Louis, I totally can prove it.”

“Our drinks are empty.”

“You're changing the subject,” Harry accused.

“Yes, but also our drinks really are empty.”

Harry glanced at their glasses and realized Louis was right. “Ah. So they are.”

He was aware of his palm sweating, growing sticky where he was holding Louis' stool. The moment felt weighty, tense, and Harry was frozen.

“You get that I've been hitting on you, right?” Louis said abruptly.

“Ah.” Harry smiled. “Well, I thought so, but I wasn't...”

Louis rolled his eyes. His cheeks were pink; Harry wasn't sure if he was flushed from alcohol or for other reasons. “Okay, so work with me here, Styles. I'm putting myself out there. What do you have to say?”

Harry bit his lip, taking a long moment to simply look at Louis – his partner in crime for so many years, his best friend, who had so suddenly laid his heart bare in his strange and prickly way. Harry felt dizzy with sudden change, and he wondered, and he said, “Yeah. Yes. Oh, you're right.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “I'm always right, but I'm not entirely sure what that means.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't terribly graceful, and he pressed too hard, but Louis immediately lifted his hand from his own face to wrap his arm around the back of Harry's neck, so Harry kept kissing, sucking lightly on Louis' bottom lip before sweeping his tongue across it. He lifted his hand from the stool to press it against Louis' hip. Louis made a sweet sound in the back of his throat and opened his mouth, pressing his tongue forward and pulling Harry in closer.

“Come on, guys, you know better.”

Harry pulled back, startled, and looked over at the bartender, who was rolling his eyes at them. He pointed at Harry and said, “I've seen you here before. You know the rules.”

“What are the rules?” Louis asked, looking at Harry's lips.

The bartender answered, “No making out at the bar unless you're tipping me _outrageously_ well. Pony up or scram.”

Harry laughed and slid off his stool, grabbing Louis' hand. “Come on. Unless you really want to sit here and drink another one.”

“Nah,” Louis said easily, letting Harry lead him away from the bar. “Where are we going?”

“I don't actually know,” Harry admitted, slowing his steps. “We could... dance? Or... like, go... home?”

Louis licked his lips and said in a husky voice, “I'd let you take me home if, um, you wanted.”

Harry shivered. “We could do that.” He gave Louis' hand a squeeze and stopped abruptly. Someone bumped into him and cursed under their breath, but Harry didn't even glance away from Louis. “But, hey. Um, this isn't... I mean, do you just mean this as a one-time thing?”

“What? No.” Louis frowned. “Is that what you were thinking?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “Only, I don't sleep with a guy on the first date.”

Louis stared at him. “You literally came here to find someone to sleep with.”

“Well, yeah, but that's not a _date._ It's different.”

“Huh.” Louis tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, fair point, but counterpoint, we've kind of been dating for months.”

“What? No, we haven't.”

“The two of us going clubbing together on a regular basis, and getting drunk and dancing together all night? Remember that?”

“But that wasn't dating.” Harry frowned, pulling at his lower lip absent-mindedly. “I would've, like, taken you to movies and dinner and bowling and shit if we were dating.”

“I'm just saying.” Louis shrugged. “Also, bowling? Are you kidding me?”

“It's good clean fun,” Harry answered with a sniff.

“And how the hell does that make you think of me?” Louis gestured to himself with an indignant expression. “Jesus, maybe I won't let you take me home.”

“That's not fair! Wait, don't do that reverse psychology thing to me.”

Louis stepped closer, dropping Harry's hand so he could wind his arms around Harry's neck and press their bodies together. Harry felt instantly hypnotized, lifting his hands to press them to the sides of Louis' slender waist, feeling soft flesh and hard muscle under Louis' shirt. “Wait, what?” he asked fuzzily.

Louis grinned. “I didn't even say anything.” He lifted his chin to join his lips to Harry's, and then they were kissing, deep and hot with the crowd of the club flowing around them.

After a few minutes, Harry broke the kiss with a sigh, pressing his forehead against Louis'. “So I should take you home now.”

Louis laughed, bright and sweet. “Now he's getting it. _Yes.”_

 


End file.
